


Heat

by Emeka



Category: Fire Emblem: Shin Monshou no Nazo | Fire Emblem: New Mystery of the Emblem
Genre: M/M, Mentor/Protégé, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, One Night Stands, in the 'non-rapey' sense, risky sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:54:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24366886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emeka/pseuds/Emeka
Summary: Gordin asks a favor.
Relationships: Gordin/Jeorge (Fire Emblem)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	Heat

He smells Gordin coming before he sees him. It is a strong heat scent, familiar enough to wake him even from a restful sleep; he’s well-used to the rhythms of his student’s cycle, so much so it has become a strangely comforting groove. Perhaps because it is, like Gordin himself, so reliable. If they hadn’t been so busy today he would have noted the day himself.

He sits up on his elbows just as his tent flap opens, and frowns. Experiencing an unfulfilled heat or rut is always distressing, but he’s never seen him so cherry-red and teary-eyed, and the way he enters is practically on a crawl.

“Did someone try to bother you?” Jeorge asks coolly. Gordin is a boy too big to need comforting, and he’s never asked for it before. The only other thing he can think of is... something he’d think below any man of Marth’s, but not impossible.

Gordin shakes his head. A little movement, but it sends droplets of sweat flying. The damp smell of it grows clearer as an undercurrent the closer he gets, and Jeorge notices with a touch of concern that his nightshirt is soaked through. Hopefully he’s not getting sick on top of this. “Can’t sleep. It’s, uh... weirdly bad tonight.”

He approaches until his face is nuzzling his shoulder. A very clammy nuzzle, but it’s enough to send a jolt where the smell of him, an accustomed thing, rarely does now. “Could you tend to yourself?”

“I tried,” Gordin whines between his teeth. “But I couldn’t finish. I tried for ages.”

“I see.” That’s all. Relatively. He relaxes back into his bedroll. He lifts his arm when Gordin keeps pressing against his shoulder, letting him in against his side. Their skin together, even mostly clothed and sweaty, starts churning something in his groin and lower belly. “Do you need me to help you, then?” The question makes him flush a little internally, but he says it as directly as possible.

Gordin breathes in sharply, and lets it go in a shaky exhale. It raises a chill, goose-pimply feeling along the crook of his neck. “I was kind of feeling a little more... if you wanted. No k-kids or claiming, just...” 

“A physical itch to scratch?”

“Mh. I know it’s still risky without protection.”

If he assumed his master wouldn’t have condoms... well, he’s right. He’d think Gordin would if he’s going to be the one to suggest penetration but who knows who he does what with and didn’t restock yet—it’s not his business, details like that. “I’m sure we can find a morning-after from someone afterwards. You’re not a virgin, then?”

“It’s alright?” Gordin looks obviously pleased even through his exhaustion. A healthier color comes into his flush. “No, I mean, I’m not, but I’ve never done it on a heat before. And I knew I could trust you not to come inside.”

Jeorge turns toward him and takes closer note than he ever has of his smell. Something sweet and wild, juicy, like blackberries. It fills up inside his mouth and lays across his tongue. “I’m honored to have so much of your trust.”

If Gordin _had_ been virgin he’d probably stop here; something about the notion of being someone’s first for just a fling is daunting. As is, his hand smoothly finds its way up Gordin’s nightshirt to clasp a buttcheek, wet through with more than just sweat. His student’s slick. He wonders if it tastes the way he smells. “Back or stomach?”

Gordin pulls on his shoulder in answer, guiding him over on top. In the small space of his tent they feel meltingly close together in this miasma of heat so thick it mists with their breath. Jorge shifts his legs for a better position, one knee not incidentally nudging higher into Gordin’s groin, where something hard presses back. The keen he gets is even sweeter.

He pulls his shirt up over his chest to see him again, under this new mood. They’ve seen each other undressed during the typically communal baths, and he’d not thought twice about his student’s body. It was slender, with room still to grow, and muscle building where it does for archers along the upper body. It still is that, but now he notes too the hardened peach-colored nipples that tremble with each chest heave, and the shallow navel indent perfect for running a tongue into. Intriguing but again a little daunting—he wonders if he will always look at him in this way after tonight.

“I’m not going to knot you,” Jeorge says, readying himself from his sleep pants, “but if you’re doing this poorly, you might try to hold me in. So I’m going to hold your legs for you.” He has always believed a man’s sense should take precedence over desires, but it’s not like Gordin is in a biologically stable state at the moment. Better to take the possibility out of his hands, and not find out just how strong his leg grip is.

“Yes, okay,” Gordin readily agrees, easily spreading his legs for him. His cock dribbling on his lower belly is an afterthought next to his puffy, reddened perineum, and the twitchy hole between his cheeks. He’s such a good boy, presenting himself.

Jeorge takes the limbs graciously parted for him, and uses his body weight to push himself in. It’s been a while since he’s been in anyone’s bed at all, much less a pretty omega... and in heat? A delicacy. It’s a tighter, wetter ass than any he’s stuck himself in before, and it clenches all around his shaft in a massaging rhythm.

Carefully… up to the bulge already swelling at the base. “You feel really nice, Gordin. Are you comfortable?”

“Yesss...” A few tears, of relief or some lingering frustration, drip down the sides of his face, as bright and glimmering as shooting stars. His arms wrap around his own thighs to grab onto Jeorge’s forearms. “Please, I need it so bad.”

He fucks slow at first, relishing the way Gordin’s back arches and relaxes in time with each thrust, making a languid show of his belly muscles. His plentiful slick squelches loudly even going this slow, and drips down to rub into his thighs.

The sound of his keening grows as their paces increases, until he’s panting open-mouthed into the air. There’s a bit of a whine to even that, like a hurt animal.

“Please,” he gasps, for more or harder, Jeorge thinks, until he continues, “knot me, I wanna have your come, wanna have your babies--”

 _No, you don’t_. But he plays along. “Yeah, I’ll give you kids, a whole litter.” His knot is so fat it aches; every time it bumps against Gordin’s rim he feels the urge bone-deep to obey his body’s instincts and drive it all the way in. He’s already pre-coming in him. They’re getting medicine the morning after. And Gordin’s knees are pressing into his palms, wanting to close, hold, press in… "You're going to be all full with my pups."

But a promise is a promise.

Gordin comes first, wiggling and whimpering as much as if he was still a pup himself. His semen spills over his fertile, waiting belly. His milking insides inspire a wave greater than any Jeorge has felt before to tie him and come—it’s what both of their bodies want, whatever their minds think, or how they feel, or how unwise the circumstances are. Every inch of him feels sluggish and leaden in resistance as he pulls out to climax somewhere safer, and mix his come with Gordin’s river of it.

Gordin’s legs relax and slide out of his grip, leaving his hands open to take them in his. His smile is tired, sweet. Relieved. “Thanks. I already feel a lot better.”

Jeorge hums. His knot is aching to high hell, like a disappointed child deprived of some treat. What an annoying thing. His body wants what it wants… but ultimately, he’s the one in charge of it. For something like this his say should really be the one that counts. “Think you’ll be able to sleep now?”

“Yes, sir!”

Their hands squeeze together. They rest together long enough that his sweat starts drying before Gordin gets up to toddle back to his bed. His heat will probably flare up again, but it’s likely this got him over the hump (so to speak). 

Then he is alone again, with a mess of slick and some dribbles of semen next to his bed, and a scent lingering still. He’s too disciplined to not clean as much as he can before he goes back to bed, but first... he presses his finger into the mess and sucks.

Blackberry.


End file.
